The Works of Mrs. Hemans, with a Memoir by Her Sister, and an Essay on Her Genius by Mrs. Sigourney ...

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Lea and Blanchard, 1840
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Page 187 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set — but ALL, Thou hast ALL seasons for thine own, O, Death...
Page 167 - And shouted but once more aloud, "My Father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They...
Page 182 - midst that wild scene, Gleam'd up the boy's dead face, Like Slumber's, trustingly serene, In melancholy grace. Deep in her bosom lay his head, With half-shut violet eye — He had known little of her dread, Nought of her agony ! Oh ! human Love, whose yearning heart, Through all things vainly true, So stamps upon thy mortal part Its passionate adieu — Surely thou hast another lot, There is some home for thee, Where thou shalt rest, remembering not The moaning of the sea ! A VOYAGER'S DREAM OF LAND.
Page 192 - CHILD, amidst the flowers at play, While the red light fades away; Mother, with thine earnest eye Ever following silently ; Father, by the breeze of eve Called thy harvest-work to leave ; Pray! — ere yet the dark hours be, Lift the heart and bend the knee!
Page 338 - OH ! how could Fancy crown with thee, In ancient days, the god of wine, And bid thee at the banquet be, Companion of the vine ? Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound Of revelry hath long been o'er ; Where song's full notes once peal'd around, But now are heard no more.
Page 336 - No more of talk where God or angel guest With man, as with his friend, familiar used To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast...
Page 144 - Yet more ! the billows and the depths have more ! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar, The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! Give back the true and brave...
Page 186 - LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Page 167 - With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part — But the noblest thing which perished there Was that young faithful heart...
Page 341 - And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill — But One was there, who rose and said To the wild sea,

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